


Good Under Pressure (For Years And Years And Years And Years)

by CloudDreamer



Series: Prince With A Thousand Enemies [3]
Category: Dr. Carmilla (Musician), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Clone abuse, Dr Carmilla's A+ Parenting, Dubious medical consent, Generally, Hospitalization, Hurt No Comfort, Medical Conditions, Medical Trauma, Not RPF, Scientific Slavery, Yikes, if that makes any sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25942054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer
Summary: Maki Yamazaki 160401 does (not) want Doctor Carmilla's comfort.Title from "Heel Turn 2" by The Mountain Goats.
Relationships: Dr Carmilla & Clone Maki Yamazaki
Series: Prince With A Thousand Enemies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881310
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Good Under Pressure (For Years And Years And Years And Years)

Maki wakes to the sound of rushing water. 

Their head hurts like hell. So does their back, in four almost neat lines, and their shoulder. They turn their head, pushing their eyes open, and the slight gesture exasperates a dizziness they barely noticed was there. The world is spinning, spinning even further as they see the teeth marks that’d torn their shoulder into a bloody mess, barely covered by bandages. The overwhelming scent of rubbing alcohol masks the copper taste they know is there beneath it. 

The water’s coming from a sink, they realize, after they start to process the beeping of machines they’re hooked up to. Those machines are louder, so loud that they’re almost deafening, and Maki tries to pull their hands up to cover their ears, but something stops them at the wrist. Something cold, metal. Handcuffs. They’re around their ankles too, Maki realizes, and they swallow the small sound of fear before it leaves their mouth. 

Doctor Carmilla notices anyway. Maybe it was the sound of the metal twisting or maybe it was just the slight shift in their breathing. She stands in front of the sink, her hands beneath the steady stream, scrubbing furiously, but she can’t seem to get the blood out from beneath her nails. _So that’s where the water’s coming from,_ some part of Maki observes, some part that’s not screaming in terror. 

She turns to look at them, that cold curiosity in her eye. Her teal hair falls loose around her ears, and after she reaches to shut off the water, she brushes some of it out of her face. For a better look at Maki. 

They’d shrink back, try to run or hide from that gaze, if there was anywhere they could go. If the Silvana wasn’t floating in the void of space, a million miles from anyone and anything, if they didn’t know running would be futile. If they couldn’t practically feel the tracker embedded deep beneath their skin, ticking its tiny gears, threatening to betray their every move. It could be anywhere in their body— they never found a scar— but every now and then, they think they can guess.

And it’s better not to make things harder for the Doctor. It hurts less, if they don’t fight, and besides, they’re making good together. Why would they want to run? Don’t they care about the greater good? What about knowledge? 

They can feel the ghost of her hands in their hair, voice practically a purr. Behind that voice is her smile, sharp toothed. If they don’t want, if they’re not willing this time— _”just this once, please, Doctor, let me rest,”_ the words spring to mind unbidden, words they’d failed to swallow— then there’s consequences. And they don’t want to make her hurt them, do they? She is so good, and all she asks for in return is Maki’s willing body, supple for the scalpel. 

_”Answer a couple of questions for me, dear.”_

They can’t afford to be lost in the past. Not when she’s here now, already standing over them. They frown, and Maki can’t help but study the curves of her fangs, remember how they hooked into her flesh. 

_”Which pain is worse?”_

They are an expert in hiding their fear from the outside world by now. When it’s time for the Doctor to perform and they’re left to do the lights, to encourage audiences, to be a friendly face, whatever it is this time, and the locals ask if it’ll be safe, Maki doesn’t betray a thing. They say the stories people tell about the Doctor are overstated, that she’s not as dangerous as they say, and most of the time, they’re not even lying. 

She is not a monster. Not most of the time. 

She is not a monster now. Not as she stands over Maki, concern knit between her eyebrows. This is the safe Doctor Carmilla. As safe as any version of her can be when they’re such a sinner. 

They are an expert in hiding their fear, but there’s no point to it with the Doctor. They don’t keep from trying, letting their face fall blank, nothing except a willingness to please in their eyes, but she can tell. They can’t slow their heart rate as she pulls their wrist up, yanking the chain taught, one icy cold finger against their skin. Their gaze flits to one of the machines— a heart rate monitor. Why does she bother to touch them, when that’s there? 

_”Chose, Maki, I don’t have all day.”_

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? She always did. She had forever. Maki only had now, but how dare they ask for a second of their own time? The shame buries itself deep in their chest, concealed behind their ribs with a heart that’s racing at the casual, unnecessary touch. Her grip is firm, and that’s the gentlest the Doctor is capable of. Unnecessary. 

_”Of course I have to.”_

They can’t move. They’re paralyzed, only capable of following her commands, looking for anything that might suggest what she wants from them, but they want to pull their wrist away. Want to surge up, tear these wires away from them, break and storm, but they can’t. They can’t, because she is here holding them. If they try, this gentle grip that might’ve once been reassuring, would turn tight. First, their skin would bruise. Then, their bones would break. If they were particularly rebellious, they would shatter utterly and completely, irreparably. 

“There shouldn’t be any permanent damage,” she says, looking at the layers of bandages over their exposed shoulder. It’s only now they realize they’re topless, beneath the mess of bandages, stitches, and wires. Electrodes stick to their skin. They’re not bashful, but they feel the brand beneath their collarbone begin to burn, the memory of that pain rising to the surface. 

_”You told me no. You know you're not allowed to do that."_

_"Because you were made for this.”_

Maki nods.

“I’m sorry,” is all they can force out between their lips as she lets go of them, turning away. 

“For what?” Doctor Carmilla asks. “It’s my fault.” 

They shake their head, but they’re not sure what to. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. The Doctor is supposed to accept her apology, say she was weak, that she shouldn’t have provoked her when she was hungry. And now they want to ask her to stay. To hold them, to brush their hair, to sing to them, or to strike them, to tell them, _”you are mine”_ , again and again. They want to be reminded that nobody else would ever want her defective tool, but she does, she doesn’t care that they’re a failure, she’ll use them up anyway. Leave nothing but a hollow shell. And isn’t that what Maki wants?

But she’s gone already. Leaving them cuffed to the bed. 

They can’t even curl into their own body when they cry. 

_"Because you are mine. You will always be mine."_


End file.
